Love Is
by pensandink
Summary: Their love is undefinable and unconfinable and crazy, and although it ended in pain, they never regretted a single instant of it. [Clarion/Milori] [Movie-verse] [1/?]


_A/N: My first contribution to the Tinkerbell fandom. I don't own Tinker Bell or any affiliates._

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><p><em>Love is always remembering and never forgetting.<em>

She remembers. They were young, they were innocent, they were foolish. But she still sees his face in every rising of the moon, and she wishes that they had never had to part. But, alas, that's all they are, wishes and memories, and she almost always begins bawling every time she sees a forget-me-not.

He remembers. She was warm, he was cold, and opposites attract. But he still sees her face in every leaf falling in the Autumn Woods, and the image of her tear-streaked face after his wing broke is as fresh as a baby owl just barely hatched. It takes all he has to not break inside when he looks across the border and she's not there.

_Love records no wrongs._

She barely realizes how wrong it was, how _against nature_ it was, for him to come over to her side, for her to encourage him. But his hand fit perfectly in hers, his touch icy cold and burning hot at the same time, and it's hard for her to fault herself even in her darkest days.

He barely realizes the mistakes they made, all of the mistakes _he_ made, knowing that he, and no one else, was at fault for falling in love with _her_. And he recalls the way her dainty little hand would tuck ever so gently into his, warm and electrifying, exiting and novel, and it's hard to regret ever spending any time with her.

_Love is seeing perfection in imperfection itself._

She admits she always saw the good things in him – his selflessness, and his bravery, and his stupidity, all rolled up into one Winter Fairy. She can still feel the heat of his gaze trained on her from across the room at the seasonal ball, and ignoring the whispers of discontent from her handmaidens as she stared quite brazenly back.

He always saw the best things in her – her understanding, and her compassion, and her knowing, a bundle of joy and light and happiness. He still remembers the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, her presence just in front of him, out of reach, and ignoring what they said about her being _too_ perfect.

_Love is very real, but feels like a dream._

And sometimes she wakes up, half-expecting his arms to be wrapped around her, and bursting into tears because it seems so far away, so impossible. And sometimes she turns around, half-expecting him to be there with open arms, and sinking to the ground, sobbing.

And sometimes he looks across the border, half-expecting her to greet him there with a smile and a kiss, and his heart shattering into little bits because it feels like it never happened. And sometimes he looks over his shoulder, half-expecting her to be looking back too, and closing his eyes and waiting for the tears to come.

_Love is like a war between your head and your heart._

She let her head win, she let her heart shatter; and every morning she wakes up and looks outside towards the Winter Forest and her heart is smashed into even tinier bits. In her head she knows it was the right thing, the good thing, but there's an empty, gaping hole in her chest that seems like it would fit the Lord of Winter just perfectly.

He made the logical choice, the 'right' choice, but he looks towards the Pixie Dust Tree at night and nearly loses it because it represents what he lost, what he gave up when he let his head do the decision making for him. He has a perpetual ache in his chest even though there's no actual medical reason, and he knows that her being there would get rid of it and make him feel whole again.

_Love is what makes you smile even if you're tired._

And yes, she is tired, she feels so old and so wise, and she just wants to sit next to him in their old spot at the border. She's so tired, so tired of looking over her shoulder and not seeing him, so tired of looking at him from so far away and having to force herself to turn around, but she's still smiling because of all the other things. She's still smiling because of his frank honesty, his kisses, the way her name rolled off his tongue.

And yes, he is tired, he feels so broken and so exhausted, and he just wants to hold her hand again, and make her smile again. He's so tired, so tired of his heart clenching at the merest sight of pixie dust, so tired of the irrational hope he has whenever he looks at her and compelling himself to turn around, but he's still smiling because of the memories they shared, as many as the leaves on the fall trees, the kisses like springtime, the joy like summer.

_And their love is undefinable and unconfinable and crazy, and although it ended in pain, they never regretted a single instant of it._


End file.
